The Mad Hatter Tea Party
by cassandra2pg
Summary: Just another little Miss Parker adventure in Wonder-Boy-Land. Written for the Blade Mistress' Pretender Gen Ficathon.


Disclaimer: nothing mine here, with the only exception of the mistakes. Pretender belongs to somebody, who doesn't care at all about it, and the "Alice in Wonderland" lyric belongs to someone is form Disney.

This story is an entry to Blade's Ficathon. Scenario: Miss Parker baking something from scratch

Summary: Just another little Miss Parker adventure in Wonder-Boy-Land

A/N: I want to thank Blademistress, Jerseyno1 and Amaiyume for betaing the story and Blademistress for the correction of the english. Thank you gals for wasting your time with this.

**The Mad Hatter Tea Party**

There are days when I just feel it; can smell it in the air. Those are the days when I wish I had just stayed in bed and called the day off. Pity I can't.

But I have to stay there, even knowing that I'm probably going to end up with the flu, glued to a floor, strip-searched, stuck in a container with my psycho-brother. Maybe today it will be one of the above or all of the above with something worse as a bonus - if Wonder Boy is in a playful mood.

I can't pinpoint what it is exactly, but I just _know_ today is one of those days. Maybe it's the location; a bakery, all old-fashion, full of familiar warmth and a cherry feel-at-home atmosphere. And for some unknown reason, there are scenes from 'Alice in Wonderland' painted all around.

Maybe it's the owner, a new version of Gone With The Wind's Mamy, but white, with an Italian accent and bigger. Apparently there really are no limits to what a human being can do to themselves. Gosh she is an offence to common taste

Perhaps it was the now familiar "You must be Miss Parker" complete with the knowing smile. I must be very known in the 'weak and abused' circle

Maybe it was just the "Follow me in the kitchen, honey."

_'Honey'._

It was definitely the 'honey'.

Welcome to Wonder-Boy-Land.

Mamy is looking at me with expectation and Broots and Syd are doing their best not to laugh. Oh hell! Let's go down the rabbit hole.

Mamy's hips are swinging towards the direction of the back of the shop. I swing mine as well and Broots' eyes follow them as Syd asks his usual questions. Disney's "Alice in Wonderland" soundtrack plays in the background.

_Forward, backward, inward, outward, come and join the chase! _

"How long was Jarod here?"

"Oh! For a month or so, then he just disappeared, here one day gone another."

_Backward, forward, outward, inward, bottom to the top, never a beginning there can never be a stop to skipping, hopping, tripping, fancy free and gay. _

"How did he look?"

"Well, he was such a nice boy. He was cute as a button, dear. But he looked so alone. He needs a woman, I swear. But the right one, one able to really take care of him. I've seen him not sleeping or eating for days. I'm not surprised he was so down sometimes."

_I started it tomorrow and will finish yesterday. _

"Was he interested in anything in particular?"

"Well… he was very interested in anything to do with cooking."

_Round and round and round we go, and dance for evermore. _

"Cooking?"

I can almost hear Syd's brain running to find a deep Oedipal explanation to that. C'mon, Freud! Don't be so cerebral. Your protégé is a bottomless hole when it comes to junk food. Case closed.

"Yeah. In particular baking sweets. That's a little bit strange for a man of his age. I hope he is not … well … you know. It would really be a waste: such good looking boy!"

_Once we were behind but now we find we are be-forward, _

_Backward, inward, outward, come and join the chase! _

Oh! You are so damn right!

Enough, let's get to the point. "Has he left anything behind?"

"Well…"

"Yes?" I try not to snap, I just want to get this over with, for her to hurry up so we can find the meaningless clue, drag our asses to the other side of the country, end up in another hole of a place and find out we are already too late and then back to the starting point once again. _As usual. _

We are already behind schedule in our personal caucus-race.

"Jarod has told me that if a certain Miss Parker would come to look for him…" Okay, this is me, go on, please. "I should give her something, but only after she has done one thing…"

"That is?" Here it comes. What will it be this time? Reciting 'the little busy bee' suspended on one leg? Dancing the Lobster Quadrille with my personal Tweedledum and Tweedledee?

"You have to make a crostata for me, sugar."

Crostata… I try to recall the meaning of the word. Crostata… it doesn't belong to the business Italian I have spoken in the last twenty years. Crostata… If I remember correctly it's a kind of Italian…

No way! You've got to be kidding me! "I'm supposed to make a pie for you?!?"

"Esatto, carina! Jarod told me that you two are friends and that you have been very stressed lately and we both agreed that cooking is a wonderful way to relieve tension."

I look at Sydney in desperate need for help. But I should have known: he is trying to hide the hugest Cheshire Cat grin I've ever seen. "Well, Miss Parker, it looks like you have to bake."

I scowl. Someone here is going to pay.

No, each of them is going to pay.

"Courage, Miss Parker. Baking has never killed anyone."

"_NOT YET_." Give me time, Freud, give me time.

Mamy is approaching me with an apron. There is no way in the world I will wear one of those things.

"Thanks, but I think I'll do without"

"But… cara, are you sure?

I look at my outfit: Prada, satin, dark blue, one of my favourite. Ruining it would be a crime.

I look at the apron: white, with pink cow-print.

"Positive."

"Madonna! You will ruin you beautiful suit."

Am I hallucinated or are the strings shaped like a cow's tail?

"I'll take the risk"

I can feel Broots eyes on me. I'm so going to be the main attraction for any missing-a-fundamental-body-part Centre employee. I can already feel Left Eye Bob from Surveillance and Tongue-less Buzz from Communication laughing their asses off at my expense.

Ratboy, you are so dead! If only I could get my hand on you now.

"Nonononononono Nooooooo."

And so far I thought a fireman's siren was an offensive noise. I was wrong.

"Now what?"

"Sweetie! Be careful! It looks like you are punching the dough."

"Really? I wonder why?"

"Sbagliato! Sbagliato! This is wrong! This is assolutamente wrong. You have to caress the dough, knead it with passion but with delicatezza. It's like making love to your man. Fai l'amore."

Yeah sure. That was exactly my thought.

"Sweetheart, it seems to me that you are really not able to bake."

"Does it look like I have ever baked in my life?" I snarl to her. In the background Broots finally gives up the fight against his laughter and laughs outright.

"Then, my dear, it's just time for you to learn. Don't you know that good cooking is the quickest way to reach a man's heart?"

The only man I am interested in right now is a certain lover boy, and the way I'm planning to 'reach' him is by a bullet. And the part I want to reach of him is definitely NOT his heart.

I swear, next time we meet, I'm going to shoot a relevant part of Rat Boy's anatomy away.

"Aaaaawwww! Precious." Mamy cries. "You're punching it again!"

God, how many idiotic nicknames can a single human being use?

"Chicca! Be careful."

Apparently her resources are unlimited. Just to make it clear: the moment I hear 'pumpkin' I will reach for my gun.

"Perfetta, perfetta, perfetta! See? You have been bravissima."

"Okay I'm done. _Now_ give me the darn thing he left for us."

The woman hands over something she removed from her breast pocket. I gesture at Broots to take it. Sure as hell I'm not going to touch it.

Home Sweet Home.

The clue was indeed, as I had suspected it would be, meaningless.

My keys tinkle as they hit my coffee table.

We indeed dragged our sorry asses to the other side of the country.

I launch my shoes somewhere under the coffee table.

We indeed ended up in another freaky place.

My jacket ends up somewhere behind the couch.

We were indeed too late.

I pour myself a glass of Whiskey.

Back at the starting point, once again.

Only one more thing left…

Of course, there it is.

"What?"

"You should take a look in your kitchen." Guess who?

I should curse him to Hell, swear to God I'm going to make him pay for his latest prank; find some bitter and smart remark to cool him down. But I'm just too tired for any of those. So I simply drag myself into the kitchen.

On the table, neatly wrapped in a red ribbon is a box, one of those home delivered sweets is waiting for me.

"A very merry unbirthday to you!" Jarod chirps from the other side of the line.

Apparently monkey boy has found another pop culture issue to explore. Less idiotic than "Mr Potato Head", at least.

I slowly unfold the red ribbon and _surprise surprise_ I'm looking at my cake.

I sigh. "Is there any point here, besides tormenting me, Jarod? Because if there is I'm not really getting it."

"Just give it a try." His tone is now deep and warm. If I were a cheap romance novelist I could say he was purring. Charm mode on, lover boy?

"Sometimes you can discover that what you thought wasn't for you isn't so bad, in the end." And with that last piece of wisdoms, he hangs up.

I look at the cake. I should probably throw it away. It's just one other of wonder boy's meaningless mind games. Just another way to torment me; and I have to admit that he can be very creative.

I look at it again. It doesn't seem that bad and counting that it has been baked by _me_ it actually looks pretty good. I start to fumble with the cake, just a tip here and one there. Not that I care about it, but the consistency seems perfect; Mamy may be one of the most annoying whales on the world, but apparently she knows how to bake a cake.

Oh dear, I pulled on it and a crumb has come off.

What the hell. I pop the piece into my mouth, just to see how it is. And all of a sudden I have to fight hard to suppress a laugh. Just to make it clear, it's not that I'm admitting that wonder boy is right, but … it's not that bad, in the end.

**.:: That's all folks! ::.**


End file.
